A Myth
by TheQueen117
Summary: There is a myth that haunts the Southern Island. That when the water has become a mirror and the earth is on the edge of death, you can hear a soft wail echoing across the beaches, a mermaid who longed for her lover.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer****: I own only my ideas**

**A Myth**

* * *

**Summary: **There is a myth that haunts the southern island. That when the water has become a mirror and the earth is on the edge of death, you can hear a soft wail echoing across the beaches, a mermaid who longed for her lover.

* * *

I believe in everything until it's disproved. So I believe in fairies, the myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it's in your mind. Who's to say that dreams and nightmares aren't as real as the here and now?

John Lennon

* * *

You hear the myth one summer night on the docks while you played chess with the old men and ate chocolates with the shipbuilder's daughters.

It is a myth of the sea creature, a mermaid who had fallen in love with a poor man who died against the Black Rocks decades ago. It is said that when the water has become a mirror and the earth is on the edge of death, you can hear a soft wail echoing across the beaches.

It's vague and it's short and you don't believe it, not really. But there's something about that story that sung to you in ways a story hadn't in years. Your pens have dried and your papers have crumbled and your books have molded as you waited for the moment you feel now. You have to go.

So you say goodbye to your lover and your landlord and board a ship heading south.

It's the first time you've crossed the sea and you fall to your knees the minute the ship leaves the dock, clutching the rails until your hands became numb and the ocean has gone a deep purple blue.

The captain gives you a lolly and the children braid your hair. The doctor and the cook find you a meal and your cabinmate laughs. Overall, it is a bearable experience.

When you arrive, the first think you notice is that the Southern Island is small and plain and covered in mist. It is nothing like home where the city sprawls and the forests are evergreen. Home is where blue skies and Life are common. This is not home.

Yet there is a magic in this place. It is there in the way the black trees twist upwards to pierce the sky and in the movement of the birds who carry blood on their feathers. This place curls up around you with thick fingers and claws, buries its way into your brain and down your spine, and sinks its teeth in your ear.

You like it here.

You go to the beach on one of the colder days of autumn, when the waves have fallen near silent and the wind has grown tired. It is peaceful here in its solitude. Quiet like a grave and just as still.

That is when you see it.

The faintest ripples in the water and flash of brilliant sapphire blue in the corner of your eye before the world falls.

You return to your room two nights later with your mind heavy and your boots tracking sea water into the lobby. Your eyes hurt as if you'd spent the day staring up at the sun and your cheeks are sticky with tears. The clerk hands you a towel and a cup of tea and you thank him with glassy eyes.

When you are brave enough to ask, the locals do not talk. Their faces close and their voices become cold…but their eyes…their eyes grow sad and soft in remembrance of something they'll never tell you. A child takes your hand and tell you to leave it be. And an elderly woman allows her tears fall. But all lips press firm

It takes you time to find him. But you are smart, and you are persistent, and you are scared.

He sits on the pier everyday lost in thought, an older fisherman with the long red coat and yellow hat doing nothing but smoking a grandfather's pipe. The search to find him has taken days and in the end you do not remember how.

When you ask, he cries, silently. Face smooth as tears flowed until his eyes dry and the sun has dipped low in the sky. It is only after he has calmed that he tells you to go south to the edge of the beach where the water turns a soft grass green and the starfish aren't shy. There you will find a home with a round green door. Ask the owner.

"If the owner of said home is willing to take visitors that particular moment, the light in the second window to your left will be on," he tells you between puffs of his pipe. "It is not that the owner is against visitors, but rather he is a temperamental being. Irritate him and the sea will dry before he will tell you the story."

And so you go.

You find the place where the water is green and the star fish are friendly. They wave to you, soft pink fingers dancing just beneath the water and you wave back, awed by these sweet creatures.

That is when you see it again. A stark blue across the sky, like the rawest sapphires And a soft laugh like silver bells during Christmas. But when you look up all that is left is the waves of the ocean.

So you move on, turn and walk till you find a soft green hill with a single tree so out of place amongst the rocks and the cliffs.

In the middle of the hill is a small green door.

Part of you is scared, nervous and sweating, impatient to enter this strange little home with its strange little door. The other remembers the words of the elderly fisherman with the red, red coat and the funny yellow hat that looked two sizes too big. And so you look for the second window with its light.

You do not find it for the owner of the house under the hill with its large green door will not see visitors that day. So you leave, watching the ocean.

The next day you try again and again and again until a month has passed and your feet carry you there without thought.

The fisherman gives you no pity and the locals watch you with fear.

And on the day you are about to give up and go home to your old apartment in the Northern Island where the heating is never constant and the sink keeps dripping, you see the light on the second window is on and the door is slightly ajar, waiting for you.

The creature you find inside startles you so greatly you can say nothing as you allow it to take your coat and your boots.

It is a frumpy thing with a mass of curly red hair atop of a plump face. He wears a robe the same color as the fisherman and his large feet are bare as he crosses the room. It reminds you the pixie creatures you found in the woods during your trip to the Country with its slight elevin ears and button nose. But it is too large and too loud and too hairy. And so you stare with all the grace of a bull and wonder what it could be.

"Bilbo," it says after it had settled you in the living room with a cup of tea and a blanket. On the table there are cakes and sweets and something that looks like the soft bread buns your lover would make during holidays.

It takes you a few moments to reply, mouth hanging open like a fish out of water before you breath in deep and whisper your own greeting.

Slowly he repeats your name, rolling the syllables across his tongue and around his mouth and for a moment you are struck with a great moment of fear and regret. You have made a terrible, terrible mistake.

"You are here to hear the myth of the merman are you not?" Bilbo says after a moment, your name lost to his words and you nod like a mute.

He watches you for another moment. Outside you hear the beginning of rain. "It started the day the Great Harolden Cliff finally broke…"

* * *

**A/N:**

******Inspiration:** The absolutely brilliant Mermaid Dworin AU currently being created on Tumblr! Bless everyone's creativity!

I'm pretty excited for this idea! Next update should happen next week. I promised to have my Thorinduil Rule 63 completed by Friday, but I wanted to get this out there while the idea was still fresh!


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

**A Myth**

**Chapter 2**

* * *

The fishermen know that the sea is dangerous and the storm terrible, but they have never found these dangers sufficient reason for remaining ashore.

Vincent Van Gogh

* * *

"Hurry up!" roared Dwalin over the crash of the waves and the howl of the wind. Around them the island screamed, trees falling to the shakes of the island and pelting of the rain. Besides him, a child falls to their knees, limbs caked in mud and clothes stuck to wet skin.

Grabbing the boy too roughly, he pulled him to his feet before shoving him inland, "Go home, Ori!" Dwalin snapped, before turning his voice to the Men and Women running through the mud of the beach as they packed the stones into place, "Double yer speeds! The waves are coming higher."

There was a cry of fury and fear from those that were able to hear him, "We can't keep this up, Dwalin," Bofur screamed back as he doubled his load and hurried back to the Wall, "We'll collapse before we'll get this thrice damned Wall finished."

"It's yer body or yer home," Dwalin cried back as he lifted his own stock pile of stones. It wasn't that the people of the Southern Island had not known of the storm. They had seen the signs and warnings, but rather had not expected it to come so quickly. Now every able bodied person ages 17 and older where out working the Wall as fast they could.

But it wasn't enough. And soon the cliff would break.

"Did I not tell ya to go home?" Dwalin growled when he spied Ori stacking stones into place. Dwalin had to admit that he admired the boy's strength. He had not known the 14 year old was so capable.

"Dori is ill and Nori is North," Ori snapped back, slopping the sticky batter into place before attaching the next stone, "If I don't help, then what right do we have to the protection of the Wall?"

Grabbing the boy's arm as he turned to collect more stones, "You damn well know that ain't how it works." Dwalin hissed.

Ori laughed, "If you believe that to be true than you're a fool." he wrenched his hand out of Dwalin's grasp and ran to help Niru wrestle his stone from the wet earth.

Cursing, Dwalin turned back to his section and slammed the stones into place just as the wind picked up, throwing the rain directly in his face. He did not know how long he could keep this pace up. They'd been at it for a near three days now and they'd barely finished the first half.

Several hours later his part had reached the second tier and he hauled the remaining two stones of his stock over his shoulder before climbing up the metal ladders. The storm was coming down harder now as night drew closer and twice he had to stop to ensure he did not topple over before he was able to reach the top.

"Be careful," he thought he heard someone cry over the sound of the sea and the storm just as a great wave crashed against and over the Wall.

And when the wave had receded and he was able to see again, Ori looked up only to scream in despair when he saw Mister Dwalin was gone.

…

They found him two days later, unharmed, on the southern end where the pools were so shallow, the water was tinted green from the earth bellow.

After they had lost Dwalin, the storm had seemed to magically cease after the Wave, as if the ocean was pleased with its sacrifice. The winds gave up and the rains dispersed until there was nothing left but the destruction of the storm and the high tide against the Wall.

When he'd told Dori of what had happened, Dori'd laughed until his cough had gotten the better of him. It had taken a good half hour before he had calmed enough to whisper a hoarse, "Well…I'll be damned."

Bofur and Bombur had organized a search party to comb the beach and shallower waters for the body. It wouldn't have been right to leave Dwalin to the fishes. And Ori had taken to joining them when he was not busy with school.

There was even some talk about sending a letter North to the mysterious elder brother, Balin, who had left town some years before. It wasn't a secret, things in a town this small rarely were, that the two had had some sort of falling out. Ori had been rather vocal about it, insisting that Balin would want to know of his brother's death. Certainly, Dori and Nori did not have the best of relationships, but that did not mean Dori would not want to know if Nori was dead.

In the end, Malia had found him on her daily walks to collect seashells that she made into jewelry and table pieces to be sold up North.

After that, the town was in an uproar as people attempted to speculate what had happened. It was obvious that it was not a natural. No man could have survived that fall or those waves, even someone as strong and seasoned as Mister Dwalin.

But there he was, lying safe and alive in the local hospital with Oin hovering over him.

"How is he?" Ori asked as he set the fourth bouquet of the day on the side table. Soon there would be no room to put them. Mister Dwalin was a beloved and respected man of the village. His word near law since his family was one of the first to settle the Island. It didn't help that he ran one of the most successful fishing boats this side of the sea and owned half the village.

He was nothing like Ori. His family had come by accident, washed up on the beaches like most newcomers. They didn't have a trade or a hidden gift to support them like most who came here, and, as such, were forced to pick up whatever work they could find. After months of saving up, Dori was finally able to run the local tea shop and had plans to convert the upstairs into a small Inn. Nori…well they didn't talk about what Nori did. Ori was studying and planned to attend the University up North. He wasn't suited to agriculture.

Sometimes Ori liked to imagine what their lives had been like before they'd washed up, that they were people of statues and security. That maybe there was someone out there looking for them, their parents maybe? That'd be nice.

But attempting to remember their life from before was foolishness at its finest. No one had ever succeeded and many had been driven mad in the chase. The risk was not worth it.

"Ori, can you watch him for a bit?" Oin asked as he set his tools aside. "It's my turn to retrieve Gimli from school and there is nothing else I can do here."

"Course," Ori said, taking a seat. And he was telling the truth. He didn't have anything to do. Dori was well again and school was out for the day. He could do homework, but such things were better left for later.

"Call me if anything changes!" Oin called on his way out.

Ori doubted it would.

…

Two hours later, Dwalin woke with a start and grabbed Ori, who'd been sitting by the side of the bed, startling him awake.

"Warn," Dwalin rasped, tugging to bring Ori closer, "Warn."

Ori winced at the strength holding him down. "Shhh, shhh," Ori tried to calm him, "You're at Oin's. You're safe."

"Mer…mer…" Dwalin tried to speak before doubling over in a lung hacking cough.

"God damned it," Ori hissed, trying to pull his arm out of Dwalin's grasp. But the grip was too strong, and he could feel his bone straining under the weight. But he needed to get Oin. This was not helping!

Once Dwalin'd settled, he tried again despite all of Ori's warnings, "Mer...Mer...Mermaid," Dwalin finally hissed out between recovering breaths, "Mer…"

—

On your way out, you pause at the shallow green waters. The rain had stopped only minutes before and the pools were now more blue than green, but you could still see into their depths were the star fish now slept and the fish swam, green and red and glowing.

"Can you hear me?" you turn suddenly to the ocean and scream, deep and raw. But no one answers you, not even your own echo. The ocean remains as still as a grave, mirroring the clearing night sky. Looking up, you see the North star to your left. It annoys you.

You don't know why you're doing it, but you can't help yourself. And you throw yourself into the ocean, splashing and shouting, ruining the still, beating the silence. "I'll find out what you did!" You scream, picking up a stone_- what if this was once part of the Wall, what if Dwalin had carried it into place only to watch as it fell, beaten by the waves, what if Ori had carried it, little Ori who'd worked until his arms had given, fourteen and so old -_ from the sea floor and chucking it as far as you can. You watch, chest heaving and breath coming out in deep huffs, as the heavens ripple across the water. Yet no sound comes forth.

Collapsing to your knees so the water tickled your chin, you tip your head back and laugh and whisper, "I'll find out what you did to me."

...

When you crawl back to your Inn, the clerk is waiting with a cup of tea and a towel just like last time.

You don't bother to ask how he knew and accept what is given with a small smile.

"I hope you know what you're doing," he calls out to you as you ascend the steps to your room.

And as you settle into bed, clean and tired, you whisper back, "I hope so too."

* * *

**A/N:**

I'm going to try for weekly updates. This is going to turn out longer than I anticipated. *sighs*

* * *

**To Minutiae** - No, not really. ^_^


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, but my own ideas**

**A Myth**

**Chapter 3**

* * *

"If you swim effortlessly in the deep oceans, ride the waves to and from the shore, if you can breathe under water and dine on the deep treasures of the seas; mark my words, those who dwell on the rocks carrying nets will try to reel you into their catch. The last thing they want is for you to thrive in your habitat because they stand in their atmosphere where they beg and gasp for some air."

C. JoyBell C.

* * *

_It's dark. And it's cold. And you're drowning._

_The water churns faster and faster as thick siren songs spin you around and around until you can't tell up form down, curface from floor._

_And you're sinking._

_You sink like a stone or a ship finally tired of floating, slow and inevitable, cradled in the kraken grip of the sea._

_What is the sky? What is the land and the air and the sound of birds and wind and Man in the days of work? What significance do they truly hold, when Death in all its warm embrace is pulling you closer to the heart of the World._

_And so you close your eyes and fall._

...

Where the days sits mild and similar, the mornings carry extremes.

Sometimes they're wet and cold. And the sun is nowhere to be found so the City Council has the street lamps relit for one more cycle, and the mist curls around your ankles and floats up into your hair so each breath is a wet wheeze. And you have to layer upon layer to ward off the chill.

And other mornings are hot and wet, where a drizzle is near constant until lunch time. The sky is cloudless those days and the sun floats along, proud and bright in its solitude.

This morning was a cold and wet morning. One of those mornings that has the dew drops forming on the ends of your eyelashes and along the curve of your cheek as if you had been crying from a good read. Though perhaps it wasn't all from the weather and a little from your sleep when you'd dreamed the most peculiar dream where you falling or floating or drowning or waiting or something like that, but you can't really remember. It was one of those dreams that sat on the tip of your tongue and the back of your mind and made you wear your lucky socks instead of your normal socks and throw salt over your shoulder for good luck.

It takes you a while to notice you were the only person dumb enough to brave the morning. But it makes the walk to the pier rather calming in a way. It lets you think, which is sometimes a good thing.

The old man chuckles when he sees you, "So Bilbo has chosen to let you in, has he?"

"He's begun to tell me what happened," you grin as you poor two cups of coffee. The heat is a welcome relief.

The fisherman ignores the cup and snatches an apple. "Is that so?" he says through a mouthful of fruit. He has terrible teeth.

"About Dwalin and Ori and the mermaid." you add as you sip your coffee. You'll leave soon to brace the walk to Bilbo's. You blushes when you remember your behavior the night before. How silly it was now to have thrown yourself into ocean as you had. You could have hurt the starfish! It was Bilbo's fault really, telling the story in a way that made you feel like you _knew_ them. Ridiculous because they had died years before you'd been born. Everyone knew of the "Breaking of the Harolden Cliff," even a Northerner like yourself. It'd happened about 200 years ago during the last Great Storm of the Southern Island if you remember your lessons right.

When you look up, the fisherman is watching you with a face you could not decipher. "I'd think you'd best be going, laddie," he says, throwing the core into the sea, "The high tides be coming in soon."

...

By the time you reach Bilbo's, you're cold and wet and the sea has covered your footsteps.

"Idiot," Bilbo says shoving a towel into your face, "Come on, then, strip and wear these," he tosses a bundle of clothes in your direction.

When he notices you're still standing there towel in one hand, clothes in the other, he scowls, "Get moving! I don't have all day."

The clothes are warm and soft and a bit worn. And they fit all right, "How do I look?" you ask when you enter the kitchen. Bilbo's making tea again. It's odd seeing as last time he hadn't had a sip while you'd sat and drank three cups during his story. Afterwards you'd been so sleepy, you'd taken a nap on his coach for some fifteen-twenty minutes before gathering the energy to head on back to your room.

Perhaps that is why you'd acted the way you had. You were simply tired.

"They were Dwalin's," Bilbo says, setting a pot of tea on the living room table, "Before he left, he spent a night here...well," he grins, "I'm getting ahead of myself."

You take your seat and draw the blanket over your legs. Outside, the sound of the ocean grew closer.

"Dwalin didn't adjust well after his accident..."

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**A/N:**

**Do tell me when the twist becomes obvious**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own ideas. **

**A Myth**

**Chapter 4**

* * *

At night, when the sky is full of stars and the sea is still you get the wonderful sensation that you are floating in space.

Natalie Wood

* * *

"I told ya to lay off!" Dwalin roared, throwing his bucket at Bofur's damn head.

"Now come on, mate," Bofur cried as he ducked and danced to the other side of the dock where Dwalin's small boat was half-tied, "You just woke up! You don't have ta head out so soon."

It took everything Dwalin had not to grab the idiot and strangle him. Instead, he snarled, loudly, "You ain't my keeper, Bofur, It's been a damned three weeks. And I'm heading out." He grabbed his gear and moved until he was touring over the smaller man and glared, "Move."

"Oin says you shouldn't be out in the water for at least a month, " Bofur scowled, crossing his arms and holding his ground - damn his Goddamned stubbornness.

"And I'm telling ya, I'm fine." Dwalin said through gritted teeth for what felt like the millionth time that day and pushed past Bofur so the lad - and, honestly, it was like he'd forgotten that Dwalin was ten years his senior! - stumbled and nearly fell of the dock. Dropping his gear into his boat - a small, rickety thing he'd inherited from his father - and making quick work of the knots holding him inland, he only allowed himself to soften when he was finally read to walk it down the dock. Looking up at Bofur who was now standing to the side with an expression of worry that gave him wrinkles on his forehead, Dwalin sighed, "I'll be fine."

"Just be careful, all right," Bofur said, fiddling with his yellow fisherman's hat: taking it off his head, putting it back on, squeezing it, and waving it around like a flag. The hat used to belong to his cousin before the freak accident that had landed a spear in Bifur's side instead of his prey. When the boat had drifted back to shore, the hat was all that remained.. Four days later, they found the body, though calling it a body was a kindness.

But that was the cost of sailing too far out. Everyone knew it was best to stay away from the Black Rocks.

Dwalin can still remember the first time he'd heard the history of the Black Rocks from Old Woman Rozil, the Mirror Keeper of the South. His mother had been so angry. He'd been too young to learn the Greed of Man, and he could admit that now. But back then he'd been so awed to learn of a time Before, when the Old Folk had shared the Earth with his Kind before they'd proven themselves too cold to feel the Earth as the Old Folk did. And so Man worked and worked the land and sea gifted to them by the Mer until the land broke and the sea lost its life and Man had driven the Old Folk into the outside World, leaving the shells of once grand civilizations to wither and harden into the Black Rocks, a circle of Ruin lying at the edge of the Myst as a reminder and a testimony.

According to the histories, the Last Peak, tallest of all the Black Rocks and the place Bifur had drifted too close too, was the burial grounds of the Last Stand between Mer and Man. It is said that even Man can feel the mourning of the land still colored red from the blood. Not that Dwalin ever wished to see if the stories were true.

Places that carried such history were best avoided.

"Always," Dwalin grinned, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders when Bofur gave a shaky smile in return and put his hat back on. Only when he was sure the idiot wasn't going to chase after him, he finally pushed off from the dock.

Where he was headed wasn't that far and once he'd gained enough speed and distance, he feathered his oars and let the current take him where he needed. He'd always loved the ocean, more than the land. He'd make his parents take him to the beach every day as soon as he got home from school. After the landslide and back when his brother had still lived with him before he'd turned 18, Balin would take him out on their father's fishing boat, _Lady Dis_, named after a Mermaid princess, and let him swim out in deeper water. Balin would always joke that one day he was going to leave him out there so Dwalin would finally have the chance to grow the gills and fins he should have had since birth. Once Balin had even begun rowing away, calling out that he'd return by sunset. And in retaliation, Dwalin had chased after the boat until he'd finally caught his brother by the coattails of their father's favorite red coat and dragged him into the sea. It had been hilarious to watch the way Balin had shrieked and flailed like a newborn who'd never been in the water before.

But that was Balin. He'd never quite liked the water. Not the way Dwalin had. And it made sense that he'd eventually move North.

Chuckling softly, he let his hand glide against the water, creating ripples and destroying the mirror-like image of the sky. Now wasn't time to dwell on bittersweet memories. He was free for the first time in weeks and he planned to make the best of it.

The spot the ocean had taken him too was a small shell that bordered the final droop before deep sea. It was the farthest a person could go in a boat as small as his if they wanted to make it back to shore. Dropping anchor and tossing a net out, he laid back and breathed in deep to fill his lungs with the smell of salt and sea and rain.

That was the beauty of the ocean wasn't it? It's resilience. It's calmness. Even when enraged with the winds and the waters of the heaven, you could always trust the sea, the ever loving temptress, to calm enough to rock you too sleep.

If only Man was that reliant, that predictable. But in the face of the ocean, Man was weak. He knew it from experience.

At least the headache had stopped and his eyesight cleared, though he feared a life of reading glasses. He would heal, physically.

But mentally...he knew it was mad, but he refused to believe the creature who has saved him was no more than a figment of his helpless imagination. After all, how else could you explain it.

The Mermaid...She'd been...a last hope at a point where he was sure it was his time to feel the bottom of the ocean, caught in the current as he'd been. Tossed around and around and around until he couldn't tell top from bottom, the darkness had been so all-encompassing. He'd tried to swim, to fight back. But every fisherman worth his salt knew that when the ocean had deemed it your time, there was little there was to do but accept it.

And then there she'd appear, glowing a soft blue like a beacon. She'd calmed him, promising him that she'd take him to safety - though how had he heard her so clearly over the roar of the water he didn't know - before pulling him close so that his face was buried in her neck, her hair wrapping around him like a halo. He can't remember what happened next, not really. He can remember a feeling of safety and trust. He can remember an idea of a place, a bright...cave? where he'd slept with his head in her lap. She'd had such warm hands. The next time he'd woken up, it'd been dark and cold and he felt like he was back in the ocean, falling faster and faster and where was she? Where was his mermaid?

Later he was told that he'd woken in a start and nearly broken Ori's arm. He'd apologized for that, but Ori had brushed it off, tough brat...But he could admit the kid was growing on him.

He knew no one believed him. He wasn't an idiot. So he was going to have to prove it to them. He'd prove to everyone he wasn't insane. And if in the process he got to meet her again...there were worse faiths, he thought, chuckling to himself just a his net gave a lurch signaling he'd caught something.

* * *

**A/N: **Yeah, Dwalin thinks Thorin is a girl at this point.  
And did I mention that I suck at world building? Let me just drop all this info in-between a semi-touching dialogue scene.


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